Category Archives: BLOG

The essence of being

The Province of Taste ( Levendula )

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Up in the 12th, a climb if you’re on for it, is where to find the lovely Levendula. An owner that’s renowned for his alcohol intake, and an interior that’s black, and maybe because of paint, this is one of those places that’s not pretty but is nearly perfect. You don’t come here for fine dining or for beer served up in a clean glass but if you’re one of those let the heights deter you. For the atmosphere adventurers there is something about this place, accessible by either 112 or 102 bus from the city, the former runs right the way through Pest while the latter comes up from Széll Kálmán tér to its terminus hereabouts before continuing on its loop around, and both stop just outside the door.
Its point, beyond the characters than adorn the place all year round, is the garden. A balmy spot offering shade on the hillside it is also only a few stops short of a fabulous viewpoint if one continues up along the 112 bus route.
Not a place for run-of-the-mill connoiseurs, it is certainly a place for off-the-beaten-track troubadours, and when you find it remember to tell your doubts:
I told you so!

©TheHairyTeacher2013

The Don

The Don

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On Mészáros utca, in the 1st district, there lies a pizzeria of some renown, Don Francesco by name. and it was to this place I did find myself arriving having disembarked the 105 bus just outside its door, or as good as.

Of course, as is the order of my quest I went in search of the margherita pizza. Well, let me tell you it has a certain herbie good taste with slices of real(!) tomato adorning the top. It certainly had its appeal, but on an empty stomach much can be deceptive. In truth it had all the finery necessary for a good margherita pizza but not for a great one. I scoffed it down nonetheless, and released my tastes buds to a drop of red wine, the selection here being varied: the good, the bad, and the ugly. I got the plain:)

Downstairs at the entrance, where I took up temporary residence, it was much like a fastfood diner while upstairs there was the more restauranty feel, the ambience intended by the recommendation I had been given. Ah, but they really didn’t know me. Tucked away late afternoon in the solitude of a dimly lit recess was not my style. I crave life and with the comings and goings of the take-away people I had material with which to work.

The service was quick and friendly, if a bit subdued or maybe it was that I was expecting something which I hadn’t even put words nor image to. Was I being unreasonable? Probably. It was Poetry Day and I was off to a book launch and somehow that had me feeling important.

Overall: The pizza gets a 7/10 while the atmosphere restaurant-wise is yet to be seen. Weekend nights upstairs must surely be different to late Thursday afternoons by the entrance. As for its location: easy in and out of town, just off  the 105 bus stop either way.

Most definitely poplular with the locals for takeaway and, as has been my experience in the past, any place the locals go to is a place to be, unless it includes a length of rope, a gallows, or an arena and some freely prowling lions.

Don Francesco’s could be a single man’s teatime and chat, or a family’s mid-week treat, and with all the potential upstairs I wouldn’t be at all surprised if the young folk would venture in at weekends enthralling first dates with their understanding of Italian and economising in the process.

For dessert I had Madártej fagyi (an ice-cream of sorts) which was a tasty affair and just to take the edge off my criticism concerning friendliness I was given the cup and saucer in which it came for free.

A thought has also struck me:

What if all those serious faces are not indicative of general grumpiness but rather of pained attempts by locals not usually exposed to foreigners trying to speak Hungarian to understand what I am saying. Maybe I’ve mistaken their concentration face for a moody one! Stranger things reputedly have happened.

©TheHairyTeacher2013

Arts and drafts

Arts and drafts

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I missed the opening of an exhibition here at Jurányi arts centre, on the street of the same name, recently and frankly if I had turned up and there hadn’t been free wine I may just have thrashed the gaff. Now the drawings were good as far as chalk on wall goes but I wouldn’t call it an exhibition: a drawing exhibited, but not warranting the whole nine yards. Unless there was free wine!

Well, anyway, inside this old school building, well preserved as it is, there is a passageway down beyond the entrance. Turning right and following the coloured lines one will find the gallery, the exhibition area, but more importantly the cafe/bar.

On offer there is a selection of sandwiches, tasting as if just unwrapped from their plastic packets, cakes tempting to the sweet-toothed, and the remaining array of drinks you’d expect of any cafe.

Tucked inside the building one does get a feeling, what with hard chairs and checked tiled floors, that this could be canteeny, but being in the heart of an old school that doesn’t sound too shocking. There has been an attempt to brighten things up with the trademark colouring not only on the corridor floor but on the programs, almost inconspicuously placed about.

It is clean and there are even a few more comfortable sofa but what makes this place may be the view to the street or the courtyard or the chance to eavesdrop on artists’ conversations, but if like me you can’t speak Hungarian very well the former option is not enough. It doesn’t lack in offers: a lunchtime menu exists with soup, sandwich, salad choices, but for a person who craves atmosphere it is a bit of a let down.

Perhaps it’s the quiet before the storm; a festival event is scheduled for two hours from now. Perhaps it’s Friday. Perhaps it’s the hum of the fridges, the rain starting outside. All factors accounted for I ‘d say this place is a handy option in out of the bustle this side of town when bars and chain cafes aren’t your thing. It could grow on me as an escape from the crowd but for now I must go in search of that very thing.

©TheHairyTeacher2013

Paradicsom-os

Paradicsom-os

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The fact that the Hungarian word for tomato and pardise (paradicsom) are the same could indicate a reverence paid by the Magyars to this simple fruit ( or is it a veg?). Nevertheless tomato isn’t something I’d usually associate with a chocolaterie and yet here I am, still uncertain.

Hidden away a little off the synagogue in a passageway between buildings, joining Károly körút with Semmelweiss utca, this place could easily be overlooked and yet the Tripadvisor has been and gone. It presents itself up front as all sweets and coffee: the glass casing at the counter filled with little treats and ice-cream scoops, while behind, the caffeine cardinals lie in wait. Along shelving scattered here and there, there are other curiosities, bottles of spices, bags of chocolate buttons, and other such marvels. It’s almost chemistry, even alchemy, and now as I sit here ruminating the paradicsomos csoki teaser I’ve just recently indulged in is resurrecting in the aftertaste whispering sweet nothings to my soul…a taste of more for sure, though I think I may resist in favour of sanity. Already the odd rush of a strong coffee coupled with the overtures of cocoa and tomato have me screaming of the tragedy of man.

A pleasant retreat it’s hard to imagine the bustling junction some twenty metres away and in the heart of the fifth district, come tourist time this little haven may indeed become one’s salvation in an escape from the heat and the hordes.

©TheHairyTeacher2013

Sugar-coated

Sugar-coated

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The imposing, almost threatening, chandelier looming above the counter all aglass in the Auguszt cukrászda on Kossuth Lajos utca could seem out of place, almost vulgar, but not here. Alongside the finely upholstered easy chairs, as well as basic seats, and the classical wall mural, everything is where it should be…and without the lean towards forced extravagance. Even the edges, polished to the modern, still function clinically as reinforcements, their wrought iron effect not running against the overall turn of the last century feel. The two picture windows screen street life and so whether for a chat or to just watch the world there are the contrasting intimate corners versus the window display seating. Upstairs there is even more seating offering one the opportunity to look down on all the comings and goings.

As for the prices: at 450huf for an average cake and 490huf a long coffee this isn’t cheap. If you are pocket motivated then Jégbüfé at Ferenciek tere farther up towards the river is the better option but for a taste of decadence, at least by surroundings, this is the place to be.

©TheHairyTeacher2013

Frythem

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Freedom fries freedom lies
fear the malice in their eyes.
Free the prisoners of their war
and let’s not wonder anymore.
Freedom lives and freedom dies
beneath the flag borne at our side.
The drummer boy rat-tat-a-tat
dressed to the nines
dies in the dirt.
Freedom won with many lives
the coffin/casket, another shackle.
Freedom thrives in many minds
but on our hands just blood we’ll find.

 

©TheHairyTeacher2013

An Artist’s Retreat?

An Artist’s Retreat?

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The Művész Kávéhaz and Étterem in Orbán tér is old school posh (chandeliers etc) like downtown, but with low ceilings, and a feeling to pocketlandia 12th district style. I don’t know; I haven’t tried the bacon and eggs: there is a breakfast menu, and plenty of food besides, but apart from the generous croissant and coffee at 650huf, I suspect there’s little else to appeal, or perhaps in its clique it offers lunch time menus only to make a killing on the drinks. Krizia, Mozsár utca, comes to mind. I’m not against this place for its style, and even its location offers life, what with bus stops and a supermarket nearby. High up it also has a view towards a distance and on a beautiful Spring evening that’s colourful. What then gives, though I’ve hinted already! Dréher Bak: 850huf! Good luck and good riddance.

 

©TheHairyTeacher2013

Retrospective

Retrospective

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Ibolya at Ferencziek tere is retro in feel and seems quite tacky. Gaudy wallpaper mixed with pale yellow paints comprise the walls while lamp shades hang low just as Diana’s ‘V’ spaceships loomed large above the urban landscape, or perhaps even as a nod to Ed Wood in his more frenetic days.

Deeper into the darkness which resides away from the street there are the sofas, while upstairs too there is the gloom. The gloom in itself is the essence of an Irish bar but with funky American diner furniture it seems like an awkward union. In truth it’s borberline psychotic. However, don’t be deterred. Those of you naive enough might find it psychedelic, while those already in the vapours of madness might find yourselves right at home. For everybody else it’s an adventure but just in case I’ve built it up, really… it’s not all that much.

Being retro and maintaining the feel, air con seems to be window-wise but I could be wrong. A monstrosity above the bar sporting vents could actually be for real. Now where are the people operating that contraption? Holed up in a backroom being fed a staple diet of kifli, parizsi meat slices, and Kobanyai beer served luke warm?

The drinks menu itself is well endowed while the snacks remain old school: meleg szendvics and ropi plus some.

An overall assessment of the place would need to include purpose. This is certainly a place to water up before moving onto the tiles John and Olivia style, and, as it is in the centre of rejuvenation, it’s all about location, location, location.

 

©TheHairyTeacher2013

The fated fly

The fated fly

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We’re all born to die…he said

we’re all born to die.

We’re not born to live…he screamed

we’re not born to live!

But live we shall until we die

and live we shall until that time

But we’re not born to live…proclaimed

he who’d had his time.

We’re all born to live…she said

we’re all born to live

and to another life we’ll give…she said

and another then shall live

and when death has gripped then …she said

when death has asked its toll

then we’ll have lived a life…she said

a life that had grown old.

We’re all born to die…he cried

and the tears ran from his eyes

we’re all born to live…she smiled

as she took from him his life.

 

©TheHairyTeacher2013

The storm

The storm

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In the stickiness under roof

the slate designed covering-

trapped short, the air, my breath, the heat,

all building before the storm.

And then it broke so gently at first,

almost hesitant, but darkening.

And with flash and bang and full cloud burst,

with each roll and fork then worsening.

The water layered to measured height,

the wet ground come a pool.

And we protected by what now seemed slight,

as the streams searched for our stool.

But finally, last gasp, last chance,

the rain itself eased off,

and though the storm held its brooding dance –

the worst passed – we all felt safe.

So out like brave, spright, troubadours,

we frolicked through the pools.

Relief that there would be no more…

yet uncertain, or we’d be fools.

 

©TheHairyTeacher2013

Copyright © Martin O'Regan
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